Rings
by Alydia Rackham
Summary: Five years after the movie, spec ops commander Shane Wolfe is assigned a cold case, and it mixes pain with the memory of the best summer of his life. But surprise joins the pain when a familiar female member joins his team. Shane/Zoe ON HOLD
1. Chapter 1

_I haven't tried these characters before, but please give it a shot, and let me know what you think of it! Thanks!!_

_VVVVVVVVVVVVV_

Rings

It was strange, wearing a uniform again. It was stiff. He wouldn't have thought about it a few years ago, but his recent months as a civilian had opened him up to comforts and luxuries he had never previously been allowed. He straightened the brim of his hat as his footsteps clicked against the sidewalk. It had also opened him up to loss, heartbreak and chaos. He drew himself up and saluted a fellow officer as he passed, his chiseled face hardening. That was why he had come back. Here, there was no chaos--only structure, discipline. Here was an existence that did not require heart.

The California sun shone brightly down on the green front lawn of the naval base. He strode purposefully the straight sidewalk that was flanked by perfectly-trimmed hedges and two rows of palm trees. He could smell the salt on the air, could hear the seagulls distantly calling.

He approached the double glass doors and the two guards saluted him.

"Captain Wolfe, sir."

"Gentlemen," he answered, his voice deep and quiet. Crisply, one guard opened the door for him. He stepped inside, turned left and immediately took of his hat, tucking it under his arm. Swiftly, he strode down the hall and stopped in front of a desk where a secretary sat.

"I'm here to see Admiral Bryant."

The secretary glanced up and smiled.

"He's expecting you, Captain. You may go in."

"Thank you," he answered, his expression never moving. He stepped past her to a plain white door, reached out a broad, scarred hand and turned the knob.

A mustached man in his late fifties rose from behind his wide desk with a smile. He had a rugged, sea-weathered face with deep wrinkles between his eyebrows. His once dark hair was mostly silver now, but his blue eyes were bright.

"Shane! Good to see you again!" He rounded his desk and extended his hand. When Shane gripped it, the other man squeezed. Shane now made himself smile. Nowadays, such an action had to be thought through--it was no longer natural.

"Hello, Admiral."

"I have to tell you how glad I am to have you with us again." The Admiral's joviality faded somewhat. "Though I'm sincerely sorry that it couldn't have been under better circumstances."

Shane glanced down.

"Thank you, sir," he said simply, and fell silent. The Admiral cleared his throat.

"Well, make yourself comfortable."

Shane did so by setting his hat down on a chair, then drawing himself up again. The Admiral smiled briefly, then spoke, leaning back against his desk and crossing his arms.

"I know you're just come back to us two months ago, but I wanted you to have a shot at this before anyone else did."

Shane's brow furrowed, but he waited. Bryant went on.

"If I'm not mistaken, you were assigned to part of the Plummer case some years back, correct?"

"Plummer?" Shane repeated, blinking.

"Yes," Bryant pulled his bifocals out of his front pocket, slid them on, then picked up a piece of paper. "You were assigned first to rescue a Dr. Howard Plummer," he said as he scanned the sheet. "And then after he was killed and you were shot, you were assigned to protect his children and find the Ghost program."

Cold, phantom pain slid down the center of Shane's gut where the bullet had penetrated. His eyes unfocused. Bryant mistook it for confusion.

"You were with them for over two weeks. The children's names were Tyler, Peter,

Lulu--"

"Seth and Zoe," Shane finished, his voice low. He looked at his superior. "And that mission ended five years, six months ago yesterday."

"Ah," Bryant nodded, looking over his glasses. "So you do remember."

"Yes, sir." Shane kept it from his voice, but strange, timid warmth spread through him at the sound of those names, almost easing the ache of the bullet wound.

"Then it may interest you to know that we have discovered a lead concerning the man who shot you and murdered Dr. Plummer."

Shane's left shoulder twitched.

"What? We caught the ones responsible for breaking into the house and trying to steal the program."

"There were two factions involved," Bryant said. "Those with Surbian connections broke it off after your attack on the boat--but not before trying to silence all of you. After that, Korea picked up the ball, and failed. Further investigation concerning the Surbians turned up nothing--until one week ago."

Shane folded his thick arms across his broad chest, listening. Bryant went on.

"We have contacts in Venice, a Mr. and Mrs. Velicio, who are ex-CIA. They say they can provide the location of the crime lord who killed Dr. Plummer."

"And?" Shane prompted.

"Nothing yet. They want to deliver that information personally--any other method they deemed too dangerous."

Shane's eyes narrowed.

"That place must be pretty hot."

"It is," Bryant agreed gravely. "The crime lord is in Italy."

Shane slowly lifted his chin.

"So this isn't just an intel recovery mission," he realized in a low tone. "It's a capture."

"And it's undercover," Bryant added, walking around behind his desk again.

"I don't do undercover," Shane reminded him warily.

"I know--but I want you on this case."

Shane shifted, struggling to keep his composure.

"How many can I assemble for a team?"

"Undercover, Captain," Bryant said again. "Only one person is going with you, and she's already been chosen."

"What?" Shane dropped his arms. "_She?"_

"Yes, she's been specially trained in undercover work--I don't think you could do any better."

Irritation pressed hard against Shane's sternum but before he could object, Bryant had reached over and pushed a button on his intercom.

"Jennifer, send Lieutenant Plummer in, please."

"Yes, sir."

Shane's eyes flashed, and he jumped away from the door. It swung open, and a young woman marched inside and snapped a salute. She was average height, with gold-blonde hair pulled back tightly into a bun. She wore the standard, crisp, tan Navy uniform. She was slender, and carried herself strongly. Her face was beautiful, with defined, high cheek bones, a straight nose, soft mouth and long-lashed, large, brilliant green-blue eyes. But her expression was hard, stubborn, closed--and familiar. Shane stared.

"Lieutenant Plummer--thank you for agreeing to take this mission. Your expertise will be invaluable."

"Thank you, sir," she answered, straight-toned.

"Lieutenant, I am sure you know your partner for this mission, Captain Shane Wolfe." Bryant gestured and smiled.

The young woman turned, and her eyes flickered a moment when she saw him. Shane inwardly staggered. For just an instant, he saw so much behind those vivid eyes--pain, bitterness, and infinitely more that he could not decipher.

"Zoe," he managed, his voice uneven. That instant, her expression shut again, and she closed him out. She arched an eyebrow.

"I go by my middle name, now: Rachel." She turned her head back toward the Admiral. "But I would appreciate it if my commanding officer would use my rank."

Stung by her coldness, Shane bristled.

"_If _I decide to take this mission."

Her eyes flickered again. He hesitated. What was going on here?

"Yes, Captain, you are the commanding officer here, but Lieutenant, in undercover situations, rank cannot always be verbally used, as I am sure you know." Bryant sat back down in his swivel chair. "In this instance, you are to work as a team, but the decisiveness belongs to Captain Wolfe."

Zoe's jaw tightened. Shane regarded Bryant. Shane's threat was empty, then--Bryant was giving orders. Shane was going. Clasping his hands behind his back and biting down on everything he wanted to say, he made himself step up to stand beside Zoe.

"When do we begin, sir?" he asked, his voice crisp and as free of emotion as Zoe's had been.

"Tomorrow morning," Bryant replied. "You will be debriefed on the plane."

Two voices answered.

"Yes, sir."

VVVVVVVVVVVVV

Shane packed in his silent single apartment, filling one small duffle bag with everything he would need. He then set his bag down on the carpet near the door and glanced around his room. It was all neat, orderly--empty. He shut off his light and slid under the covers, tossing his pillow onto the floor. He stared at the gray ceiling. Silence filled the room.

His left hand drifted over to the other side of the bed--the side that now always remained made up. An ache ran through him at the soft, uninterrupted smoothness of the blanket beneath his fingers.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but his gnawing pain kept him awake--that, and wondering what had happened to little Zoe to make her guarded expression so much like his.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Shane stuffed his bag in an overhead compartment and sat down in the stiff airplane seat. That was another thing--he liked tray tables in civilian transport. Everything in this military jet was hard, functional, and kind of dark. He tried to ease back into his seat, thankful that at least he got to wear more normal clothes--cargo pants, a white t-shirt and a dark brown jacket--through he kept his combat boots. He glanced over at Zoe, who sat across the aisle to his right. She wore straight khaki pants, a dark green top and a cream-colored jacket, her hair still pulled back into a tight bun. She held their debriefing papers in both hands, poring over them, her bright eyes intent--almost fierce. Shane's chest panged again.

"What are you doing here, Zoe?" he asked softly. Her eyes flashed up to his, catching his full meaning.

"I told you, I don't go by that name anymore, Captain," she hedged defiantly.

"I'm _not _calling you Rachel," he countered, more sharply. Her eyes blazed.

"Why not?"

"Because it's not your name."

"It _is _my name."

"It's your _middle _name!"

"So?"

"I called you Zoe for too long--I can't just suddenly call you something else," he gestured in exasperation. She turned swiftly back to her papers.

"You haven't called me anything for five years. It shouldn't be hard to switch." The bitterness in her voice was poisonous, and startled him. But before he could think of a reply, the copilot stuck his head in.

"All set back here, sir, ma'am?"

"Yes," Shane and Zoe snapped at the same time. The copilot glanced at both of them, then quickly retreated. The airplane engine beneath and behind them changed pitch as it revved.

"All right, Lieutenant," Shane conceded. "But you still didn't answer my question."

"What question?" She didn't look up from her papers. He raised his eyebrows.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and arched an eyebrow.

"It's my job."

"Well, yeah, mine too," Shane said, nonplussed, knowing she was dodging again. Unexpectedly she cocked her head at him.

"Why did _you_ come back?" she asked pointedly. Shane's face hardened.

"I don't have to answer that."

Her gaze returned to the debriefing.

"Then neither do I."

"That's different."

"No, it isn't," she insisted, finally putting the papers down in her lap and regarding him fully. "Our reasons are both apparently personal. I have a right not to answer." Her tone was final, as if the discussion was ended. She reached up above her with her right hand and flicked on a light. Shane's eyes were momentarily dazzled as the illumination caught a diamond on her ring finger and a plain gold band on her thumb.

"Okay, you can keep your reasons to yourself," he allowed. "But you still don't have the right to wear whatever you want."

Zoe glanced over, startled.

"What?"

"Those rings--especially the one on your thumb--are a liability. They could be used to identify you, they could get caught on something, they could get you mugged--"

"They're my grandmother's engagement ring and my father's wedding ring, all right?" she lashed out, her voice low. "I'm not taking them off."

Their gazes locked. Shane gradually softened.

"I understand."

Zoe blinked, but he didn't catch the rest of her reaction because he turned away, picking up his own debriefing. The rest of the long flight, the two sat in utter silence--a deep, guarded silence Shane would have never thought he would experience while in the presence of one of the Plummers.

VVV

It was strange, seeing Shane again. Zoe had recognized him instantly of course. He hadn't changed at all--except now he seemed a bit less tall than before, since she had grown. But still, his build was incredibly thick, muscled, athletic, his brown eyes nearly black--penetrating and critical as ever, and his voice was deep, powerful and deliberate.

However, she did not recognize much more than his physical appearance. His gaze was hard, closed; his brow tight and analytical. She detected none of the softness she had once come to expect from him. Not until just a second ago, when he said: _I understand_.

She stared at him as he read his papers, and her jaw tensed. She would not wait for him to soften--that wasn't his job. It had been his job _before_, when he was babysitting, but now he had returned to his crisp, efficient military ways. Zoe looked away from him. The babysitting gentleness had been a front, she was sure. Because if it hadn't been, there was no way he would look at her with such wary unfamiliarity in his eyes.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Twelve hours later, they stiffly climbed out of their third airplane, tiredly slinging their bags over their shoulders and blinking as the sunlight assaulted their vision.

"I don't think I got any sleep," Shane muttered, fishing in his pocket for his sunglasses. Zoe immediately started walking straight across the tarmac toward a walkway that led to the glittering nearby water. Shane jumped, then hurried to catch up to her.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"I don't want to take a _vaparetto_," she answered, still walking quickly. "A water taxi is much better--and we won't have to walk as far."

"But the debriefing said--"

"Just trust me, Captain," she answered back.

"No, Lieutenant--you _halt_ right now," Shane commanded, halting. She stopped, took a deep breath, then turned to face him. He leveled a glare at her.

"I'm not accustomed to taking orders from a lieutenant--especially one who drops the orders like the flick of a switch and takes matters into her own hands."

"With all due respect, Captain," she took a step toward him. "I talked to Admiral Bryant myself, and he gave me the authority to drop the orders if I wish, seeing as I am the undercover agent on this mission, and in undercover work, the rules are guidelines that may flex even until they are broken. He also made it clear to me that I am the brains, you're the brawn--and so it isn't your turn until guns start going off."

She turned and began walking again. Shane gaped. He didn't recall being so insulted since basic. And by a little know-nothing _girl!_ He ground his teeth. This was _not _going to last any longer.

"Zoe," he called, trying to get her to slow down, but she ignored him, and strode up to the docks where a beautiful, shiny, open-air, black boat was waiting. A smiling Italian man dressed in black hopped out easily.

"Bonjourno!" Zoe greeted him brightly--and then picked up an entire conversation with him in effortless Italian. Shane slowed his pace and came up to stand beside her. He winced inwardly as he watched and listened to their rapid, animated exchange. He could speak ten different languages, but his Italian was a little rusty. He had spent most of his time in the South Pacific, and in Russia. He caught the gist of it, though--they needed a ride into Venice, to the Duodo Palace hotel, they had bags, et cetera. Very amiably, the boat pilot agreed to engage his services, and Zoe and Shane climbed aboard, settling down onto the cream-colored, padded seats across from each other.

The day was brilliant, the air was warm and dry, and the wind was brisk. The sea glittered like a vast blanket of sapphires, and the sky was completely clear. The boat took off, leaving a frothy white wake behind them, and they headed for Venice.

The angry pressure behind Shane's chest lessened somewhat as he gazed out over the railing of the boat to view the shining city. In all his travels, he had never been to Venice. It looked incredible--a medieval city growing up out of the waves. He quietly marveled at the tall towers and church domes and leaning chimneys. He glanced over at Zoe. The wind was blowing some of her gold tresses loose of the bun, but she didn't appear to mind. She was smiling a little as she gazed out over the water, as if she was watching an old friend approach. He frowned. She looked different. He couldn't put his finger on it, but her features had changed in the years he had not seen her; grown softer, more mature. Even prettier.

Shane dismissed the thought, then folded his arms across his chest..

"So...you speak Italian?"

She turned to him, strands of hair flying into her face. Her eyes narrowed.

"Yes," she said warily. Shane's temper finally flared.

"Look, Zoe--"

"Lieutenant!"

His eyes blazed.

"I'm glad you said that--it makes my point for me." He leaned forward. "Because I'm still trying to wrap my head around why you think you can give me orders--someone who is clearly your superior in rank, years and experience."

Shane was distracted a moment as their pilot casually waved to another boat. Shane returned his glower to Zoe.

"And no matter how well you did in training, this is the real world out here--and I'll have you know that I am _anything _but just _brawn_."

Fire ignited behind Zoe's eyes too. She opened her mouth to retort.

Machine gun fire rattled the air just above their heads. There was a flash movement--and their pilot dove overboard, shattering the rippling surface. Shane whipped around, his eyes darting, mind racing. It was that other boat--the one the pilot had waved to. It had made one pass, shot at them, and now that boat was swinging around to come back, its engine buzzing loudly--and their own boat had slowed almost to a halt. Shane's adrenaline surged.

"My turn," he snarled, and leaped toward the tiller. "Get up here!"

He expected Zoe to argue, but she instantly jumped across the deck and landed in the copilot's seat beside him. He glanced over, saw she was secure, then gunned the engine. They shot forward.

"What's the plan?" Zoe shouted.

"Don't have one yet." Shane glanced in the rearview mirror. Their pursuers were hot on their tail. Their engine roared, and Shane gave fleeting thanks that this boat was well taken care of.

He kept up a weaving evasive pattern, the wind whipping past them, but the other boat was slightly more maneuverable. It was catching up.

Machine gun fire hammered into the space above them. Shane lashed out and pushed Zoe's head down even as he ducked himself. He yanked the boat into a sharp turn, and the next weapons fire went wide.

"Friendly people," Zoe commented, glancing behind her as he withdrew his hand and she rose up a little. For an instant, he shot a glance of admiration at her. He had not expected her to be so calm--

"Get down!" she cried, taking a fistful of his shirt by his shoulder and jerking him downward. Bullets pierced the place where his head had just been and loudly punctured the windshield.

"Are you all right?" Zoe gripped his shirt harder.

"Yeah--let go so I can steer," he ordered.

"You're welcome!" she retorted.

"Can you see who they are?"

Zoe glanced over her shoulder.

"They're wearing black--they've got sunglasses on." She turned back around and narrowed her eyes. "Pretty soon I'll be able to tell you whether or not they have facial hair."

"They're gaining?"

"Yeah."

"Great."

"I have an idea."

"Let's hear it."

She looked toward Venice.

"Drive down the Grand Canal."

"_What?_"

She met his eyes. Her brow tightened.

"Please trust me, Captain."

His jaw clenched. All right, fine--it wasn't like he had a better idea at the moment.

"Okay, here goes," he muttered.

He pulled hard on the tiller. The boat almost skipped across the top of the water as it pulled into a sharp swerve. They blazed toward the sinking city. Shane began weaving in and out of the increasingly thicker water traffic, wincing as he passed too close to a small sailboat and nearly capsized it.

His eyes swept the buildings before him, and at last he found it--the opening that led to the Grand Canal. Their pursuers' engine buzzed ominously behind them.

"Okay, Zoe, here we go."

"Just don't hit any gondolas," she warned.

"I'll try."

They whipped into the canal, bringing down irate shouts and severe scoldings from Venicians all around them. He glanced back. The black-clad men had followed.

"Now what, Zoe?"

She bit her lip hard.

"Okay...as soon as you can, bank left, go down an alley--and then we're going to jump out, and let the boat go as far as it can without us."

For the first time, Shane grinned at her.

"Okay, I like that."

"There!" she pointed, and he instantly responded. They careened to the left, then shot into a narrow opening between two buildings. Shane briefly saw that this narrow canal eventually led back out into open water. He clamped the steering wheel in place.

"We're going to jump before this bridge!" he shouted. Zoe nodded once. Then, as one, they leaped off the port side and hit the water.

The cold liquid closed over Shane's head. It was cloudy, and in a moment of panic, he flailed around, trying to find Zoe. Then his hand connected with her arm, and he pulled her to him, pressing them both against the slimy wall. He squeezed his eyes shut and kept their heads under the surface. This would work only if their pursuers didn't see them--or worse, run over them.

An engine sound rumbled the water, and suddenly a powerful undertow struck them, a deafening presence rushed past, and heavy waves slapped them against the brick. The air was knocked from Shane's lungs, he swallowed some of the water, and he reached up and found a handhold on the wall, then forced himself to the surface, coughing, dragging Zoe with him.

Blinking water from his eyes, he turned to see the following boat disappear after their empty boat out onto the water. He glanced down at Zoe, still wrapped in one of his arms. Her blonde hair was plastered to her face, and she was gasping, but she gave him a fierce grin.

"My turn again," she told him, then reached up and dragged her sopping body out of the water and onto the walkway. Shane gritted his teeth, grabbed the edge and hauled himself out, wiping the water out of his face. Zoe took off again, squeezing water out of her hair. Shane rolled his eyes, but he followed her, both of them leaving long, wet trails as they walked.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry for taking so long to update! I hope you like this next part! :)_

VVVVVVVVVVVVV

"We're soaking wet."

"I'm aware of that, Captain," Zoe acknowledged quietly. "Any ideas as to how to solve that problem?"

Zoe, walking ahead of Shane, sensed him halt and she turned, her blonde hair still stuck to the side of her face. Shane had stopped where he was, water still running off his wet shirt and pants, and dripping on the cobblestones. Zoe froze, glancing around, listening. She didn't hear anything---and realized that he was just looking at her irritably. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"What?"

"Are you actually asking me for ideas or was that a hypothetical question?" Shane wondered darkly back at her.

Zoe frowned, unbalanced by his gaze.

"Why wouldn't I ask you for advice?"

"I don't know," Shane answered sarcastically, taking hold of the bottom of his shirt and wringing it out. "Something about your saying it was your turn again."

"Oh, please," Zoe dodged, rolling her eyes and, annoyed, running both hands through her hair, attempting to get it off her face.

"Zoe---" Shane growled. The sound of that name coming out of his mouth again grated on her, and she opened her mouth to retort sharply. Just then, a Venetian man carrying a shopping bag strolled by and gave them a strange look. Shane buried him with a terrible glare, and the man hurried away.

"Whatever we do, we have to do it fast, Lieutenant," Shane said in a low voice, still watching the stranger's back.

"Agreed," Zoe nodded, turning her narrowed eyes from Shane to the hurried man. Shane took a few steps toward her, casting his eyes all around them.

"How much you wanna bet that Mr. and Mrs. Vellicio have some civies we can borrow?" he muttered.

Zoe pushed more hair out of her face and watched the Venitian round a corner before she arched an eyebrow up at Shane. She had asked for advice. He had given it. She took a breath, hesitated a moment, then just nodded once.

VVVVVVVVVVV

"The apartment is a block away," Shane noted under his breath from behind her.

"Yes," Zoe answered, and she said nothing else. She was concentrating hard, fighting to keep her awareness sharp and focused---and grasping at the strands of commandeered leadership and authority that were slipping through her fingers. Those strands tugged against her grip again when Shane took a large step and came up to walk beside her. Zoe bit the inside of her cheek, not looking at him. He was right in his action, of course. After the funny look the stranger had given them, Shane obviously didn't want to attract any more attention by looking as if he was stalking her. But now he was only half a foot away from stepping in front of her and taking complete charge. She had managed to keep him off balance so far, and had not allowed him to rob her of her voice and her decisiveness as all of her other commanders had done. She shot a wary glance over at his set, strong visage and quickened her steps. She wasn't going to let him make her into another mindless military stooge just because she was a girl. Not this time, not this mission.

But the strange thing was---she didn't know _why _Shane hadn't taken command by force. He certainly could have. She might not know him as well as she once thought she had, but she _did _know that he never backed down, he was relentless and determined and very certain. In addition to that, he could easily pull everything on her: rank, seniority, experience---and yet he hadn't. Instead, Zoe got the intense feeling that he was watching her. Keenly. And she was fighting not to buckle under the pressure.

Their practiced feet padded quietly against the stones, and the water of the canal to their right rippled and splashed against the building walls. Zoe took a breath and held it. Just past this faded red building, they would turn and find their destination.

They both felt it at the same time. Zoe was surprised Shane picked up on her nonverbal cues, but his footsteps slowed in sync with hers and his breathing quieted. She held up a hand, and leaned just slightly around the corner, leaning her shoulder against the building. Voices and footsteps echoed against the stone surfaces ahead of them.

"Police," she observed.

"Three guns in the front, from the sounds of it," Shane supplied, coming up to stand close behind her and looking that direction as well.

"One inside, on the ground floor," Zoe whispered. "Eleven o'clock, front window."

"I see him."

The narrow street they gazed down then opened up into a small courtyard, and Zoe could see the sign they were looking for: Palazzia, the name of the apartment where the Vellicio family lived. It was a three-level, pale white building with faded white shutters decorating the tall, narrow windows. But why were there dark-uniformed police guarding it and walking around on the first floor? Zoe's expression darkened. Something was wrong.

"I don't have a good feeling about this," Zoe admitted. "But I'd like to find out for myself rather than go talk to the cops."

"Yeah," Shane said quietly. "Let's go one block further and see if there's a back alley."

"There is," Zoe answered. "There always is."

Straightening, and attempting to look casual, Zoe stepped out and crossed the street, not looking to her left toward the police, and Shane followed. The next moment, another building hid the apartment from view. They quietly hurried one more block, then slowed when they came to the next street. It was _very _narrow, and arches formed its ceiling.

"Through there?" Shane pointed.

"I'll go first, Captain," Zoe said, and stepped into the shadows. She could almost feel Shane fighting back cautionary words, but he stepped into the alley right after her.

The Italian heat faded, and musty coolness replaced it, and she felt the chill of her wet clothes against her skin. She caught sight of a bottle on the dirty brick ground a moment before she kicked it, and deftly avoided it. Shane easily followed suit. Zoe ran her left hand fingertips against the stone wall, listening carefully to the sounds of the police on the other side of the building. She could hear their voices, but could not make out what they were talking about.

They were behind the apartment now. Zoe's eyes darted over the weathered wall and finally landed on a short, sunken wooden door twenty feet in front of them.

"Here," she whispered. She slid toward it and laid her palms on its rough surface. Shane came in close behind her again.

"Is it locked?" he asked softly. Zoe's hand found a rusted handle, worked it, and heard the latch reluctantly give way. But the door wouldn't budge. Taking a small, preparatory breath, she leaned back, then lightly threw her weight against the wood. It _thunked_, sending a puff of dust up, and the door yielded. Zoe peered inside. It was dark, and smelled dank and abandoned.

She slipped her foot inside and tapped it against the floor.

"It's wood," she said under her breath. She glanced upward, but couldn't see the ceiling. "I'm guessing this is a servant's passageway."

"So it'll head upstairs?" Shane ventured. Zoe shrugged.

"It could." She slowly stepped through the entrance. "And if it does, we're in really good luck."

Shane followed her, and shut the door behind him. She bit her lip. It irritated her, because it was pitch black in there now, but he was right again. If the police came around back, it would not be good if they found a door ajar.

Now that she could not see anything, she focused on her training. She expanded her other senses---hearing and feeling. Distant floorboards creaked. Her feet and Shane's shuffled against dusty wood. It was cool, and there were no drafts. She moved forward, and her toe bumped against something short and hollow, like a step. Cautiously, she lifted her right foot, moved it forward, then set it down. It _was_ a step. Setting her jaw, she proceeded gingerly upward. Shane was silent behind her, and she only knew he was there for his deep, even breathing.

The stairway curved gently, heading steadily upward. They made slow progress because of the darkness and their desire to be silent.

They arrived at a landing. It took a moment to orient herself, and then she found the next set of stairs. They were heading to the second floor. She doubted that this passage had been used for fifty years, at least.

Again, they found a landing, made the switchback and headed up once more. At the next landing, on the third floor, they stopped and Zoe felt her way to the door onto the storey. This one required less urging, and when she opened it, sunlight from a tall, yellow-painted, airy hallway lit up the dingy landing where they stood. Zoe blinked rapidly, forcing her eyes to adjust. Then she slipped out through the door, and Shane followed. She glanced back at him. Part of his white shirt was stained with dust now, and she was sure she looked the same. Trying to keep her shoes from squeaking on the marble floor, she headed down the empty hallway.

"The apartment number was 304, right?" she whispered.

"Right," Shane nodded.

"Here's 302," she pointed. "So then, this..." She stopped. Shane halted next to her.

"Hm." Was all he said. But Zoe's heart sank. The wood around the doorknob of 304 had been shattered, the door hung open, and everything inside the apartment that they could see had been flung into disarray. Zoe silently cursed. Someone had gotten to the Vellicio's before them.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks for the reviews! They keep me alive! :D Let me know what you think of this next part…_

VVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Zoe felt fingertips on her shoulder. She glanced up at Shane---he pulled back on her, just slightly, and stepped around her.

"My turn," he said. Zoe wanted to swear again, but stopped herself when he settled his broad shoulders and stepped soundlessly toward the door, moving like a panther. Zoe watched him, considering. She, as an under-cover agent, saw a scene of chaos and confusion. Shane, as a soldier, had picked up on danger. So she waited.

Shane pushed the door aside---this one didn't make any noise---and stood there a moment, completely still, listening.

Apparently, he heard nothing, because he turned his head and looked back at her over his shoulder.

"All clear."

Her jaw tightening, Zoe stepped up next to him and they entered.

The small apartment was wrecked. The living room furniture was flung over, the drawers of the buffet were pulled out and dumped, the rug was thrown sideways and wrinkled, the lamps were broken, and parts of the curtains were torn. Luckily, though the curtains were almost sheer, they were drawn, so the police could not see them from the street.

Shane and Zoe picked their way around the mess, scouring all of it closely.

"Forced entry, obviously," Zoe said.

"The rug was messed up by a struggle," Shane added. "There are shoe scuff marks on the wood."

"No blood," Zoe noticed with relief as she stepped around the toppled couch.

"And no bullet holes," Shane said, scanning the walls and ceiling. He frowned, standing still. "It seems like they were looking for something in addition to taking the Vellicios."

Zoe nodded in silent agreement. The two of them kept looking, carefully moving around the glass on the floor.

"Phone lines were cut," Zoe said, bending down and fingering the wires. "Internet, too."

"When do you guess this happened?"

Zoe sighed and straightened, putting her hands on her hips.

"I would guess last night."

Shane met her eyes.

"Who's betting it's the crime lord we're after?" he asked in a low voice. Zoe's chest tightened.

"That's a possibility," she said stiffly. She straightened herself and forced a wryly cheerful smile onto her face. "Looks like we'll be doing some detective work, Captain."

He just wrinkled his nose and turned away. Together, they searched the rest of the apartment. Zoe entered a bedroom and found women's clothing strewn on the floor and on the disarrayed bed. She'd found a lady's bedroom. She smiled in satisfaction. Quickly, she gathered up a form-fitting, stylish red blouse, a pair of dark dress pants and dry shoes, then, making sure that Shane was in another section of the apartment, quickly changed into the clean, dry clothes. Feeling much better, she stepped back out into the living room. Shane stared at her.

"Where did you get those?" he demanded after a moment.

"The bedroom," she answered, pulling the tie out of her hair and shaking her head so her short, wet locks tumbled down around her neck.

"You just took them?"

"What's the alternative?" she asked him indignantly. "Go around in those wet clothes for the rest of the mission?"

"They'll dry," he countered. Zoe snorted.

"You have _no _idea what's in that water."

"I don't want to know," he said quickly.

"Then find yourself a shirt, at least," Zoe jabbed.

"Nothing would fit me," he muttered. "And what you've changed into won't help with maintaining our cover."

Zoe stopped running her hands through her hair.

"What?"

He motioned to her outfit.

"That shirt. It's bright red. I may not know much, but _red _is the most eye-catching color there is."

"Listen, I'm the undercover half of this outfit, and this is exactly what I ought to be wearing. If it does anything, wearing this style will make me look less like an American," she retorted. "What _is_ this, Captain---are you just obsessed with blending in? You gave me guff about my _rings, _even, and now you don't like the shirt because you think someone will notice it? Is _that _the reason you don't wear your own wedding ring?"

Shane stopped. His mouth tightened. He looked up from the floor and met her gaze. She stilled.

"I don't wear my wedding ring because I'm not married anymore," he said deliberately. Then his eyes grew hard. "That is all the more I'm going to say on the matter. And if you expect me, _Lieutenant_, to remain on a strictly professional level with you, then I, as your commander, _demand _the same courtesy. _Is _that understood?"

Zoe took a short, painful breath.

"Yes, sir." The words were torn out of her. He had finally done it. He had wrested command out of her hands and put her in her place with one sentence, just as had always happened with her other CO's. But Shane had a power that her other commanders had never possessed. Shane could hurt her.

Quickly masking all her emotion, she turned and reentered the bedroom to search for a bag and more clothes.

VVVVVVVVV

Shane instantly regretted speaking to her like that---her eyes had lit up with pain before she turned and left the room. It cut him to the quick. What were they, here---enemies? He let out a deep, low breath and closed his eyes briefly. The truth was, he was uncomfortable in this setting. He preferred quick, decisive action. He _hated _playing chess with invisible, distant enemies. But that wasn't Zoe's fault.

He stepped around a fallen armchair and quietly headed toward the bedroom. Zoe stood inside with her back to him, holding another blouse, not moving. Shane opened his mouth to say her name, and then thought better of it.

"Lieutenant," he said quietly. "I---"

"Shh," she hissed. He blinked.

"What?"

"_Shh!"_ she said more fiercely, still not moving. "Listen, sir."

Shane didn't hear anything. But he listened for a moment longer---and then heard a rustling. He frowned, instinctively moving closer to Zoe. Then, soft grunting accompanied the rustling---and then a gurgling whimper.

Zoe turned quickly, and opened the sliding door of the closet. Her eyes narrowing, she bent down and shuffled through the mess of clothes and blankets on the floor. And then, all at once, she flung a soft blanket aside and revealed the source of the sounds.

It was a baby.

The kid couldn't have been more than a year old. He was dressed in a light blue onesie, had coarse, black hair, glittering, dark eyes, and a perfect face that was scrunched up in growing distress. He was kicking and punching out with his tiny hands, making every motion that he was about to start bawling. Which would be _really _bad. Stunned, Shane glanced at Zoe.

Everything about her had softened. Her brow had relaxed, her eyes had gentled, and the corners of her mouth lifted a little. Carefully, she reached out and picked the baby up, laying him against her shoulder. She stood, and held the baby's upper body away from her a little, gazing intently into his eyes. The baby calmed and quieted, his little forehead creasing in concentration as he looked back at Zoe. Then, all at once, Zoe smiled. It was like sunshine had streamed into the room.

"Look at him," she whispered, reaching up and stroking the baby's hair out of his face. "He's _darling_." She glanced up at Shane. "Did your intel say that the Vellicos had a baby?"

Shane shook his head, trying to gather himself.

"No. But I'm not sure it would. Being CIA, they might have wanted to keep that under wraps for a while."

Zoe nodded, returning her eyes to the kid. Her smile faded.

"They must have had a little warning, then," she mused. "Enough for her to hide him well enough so they wouldn't find him, at least."

"How do you know it was the mother?" Shane grunted. Zoe just gave him a look. But Shane didn't pay attention. He had noticed something.

"What's this?" He reached forward to grab the corner of a piece of paper that was sticking out of the back of the baby's collar. Carefully, he slid it out of the kid's onesie. Zoe's eyes flashed.

"Here," she said, expertly thrusting the baby into his arms and taking the paper from him. Several years ago, Shane probably would have clumsily dropped the kid. But taking a baby from Zoe's arms had become natural a long time ago. Without thinking, he shifted his weight and now the baby was resting snugly against his broad chest, staring up at his intimidating black eyes with his own.

"It's too dark in here," Zoe muttered, maneuvering around him and back into the living room. Shane, his mind racing, followed right behind.

Paper crinkled as Zoe opened the folded note. Shane came up to stand in front of her.

"What is it?" he asked.

"_Remus y Romulus," _she read, her gaze almost burning holes in the paper.

"Remus and Romulus," Shane repeated. "Those were the two legendary brothers---Romulus killed Remus over where they should build the city of---"

"Rome," Zoe finished, her eyes meeting his. "It's written really fast," she pointed out, turning the paper around so he could see it. The writing was in pencil, and the paper looked as if it had been pressed against carpet, or something soft, when it was written on.

"She knew we were coming," Shane realized. "She knew we'd find the baby because he would start to cry, and then we'd find the note."

"They've been taken to Rome," Zoe murmured, her gaze drifting.

"We have to follow them."

Zoe watched him for a moment after he said that, then nodded decisively, though she avoided his eyes.

"This should actually _help_ our cover, Captain," she smiled crookedly, pulling at her fingers. Shane frowned.

"How so?"

"Give me your hand," she said, and before he could object, she had lifted his roughened left hand with her soft, warm ones, and swiftly slid her father's gold wedding band onto his ring finger. Shane stared at it as it gleamed in the light from the windows. Pain, adrenaline and cold shot down from his chest through his gut.

"What are you doing?" He trying to tug the ring off. But holding the baby at the same time made that difficult---it wouldn't come off. Zoe ignored him, switching her grandmother's engagement ring from her right hand to her left.

"I'm sure you noticed, Captain, that our forged passports bear the same last name: Johnson."

"Yeah, I got that," Shane growled, still pulling on the ring. It wouldn't budge. The baby started to whine. Gritting his teeth, Shane gave up. He couldn't have the baby crying and alerting the police to the fact that they were up here.

"We were originally supposed to be traveling as brother and sister, right?" Zoe continued.

"Sure. What are you getting at?" he demanded. Zoe finally looked at him critically.

"If we're brother and sister, how would you explain the baby?"

"Wait---we're bringing him with us?" Shane said, starting to reach the end of his rope.

"What do you suggest we do, Captain?" Zoe snapped. "Leave him on a doorstep someplace?"

Shane didn't answer. His jaw was clamped too tight. Zoe went on, very businesslike, folding the note and sticking it in her pocket.

"Really, traveling as a married couple in undercover work makes things much easier."

Shane glanced at the baby, then down at his ring finger. He highly doubted _that_.

VVVVVVVVVVVV

They gathered everything they would need to care for the baby, plus extra clothes, and all that Zoe had kept in her pants pockets---her water-proof passport, Italian money, a Swiss Army knife, lock picks, matches---and a few of the Vellicios' accessories that would make them look as if they were vacationing, such as sunglasses and a pair of earrings, both for Zoe. She assured a disgruntled Shane that they were only borrowing, that their mission was to find the Vellicios, and that all the things would be returned to them in the end. Every effort had to be made to make them look innocent and nonthreatening. Hence, Shane reluctantly dug around in Mr. Vellico's dresser drawers and found a white, short-sleeved shirt that fit him. Barely. But at least it was dry.

After changing the baby's diaper (Zoe had insisted upon doing it), they trooped downstairs, Zoe laden with a suitcase, backpack and the baby, and Shane bearing two suitcases and the diaper bag. Shifting the strap of one of the bags, Shane shook his left hand out. The wedding ring was too small for him, he was sure. He couldn't think of any other reason that it would be making his finger hurt.

Zoe in the lead, _again_, they exited the apartment, careful to leave it as much as when they'd first seen it as possible. They walked back down the hallway, opened the creaky servant's door and stepped into the darkness again.

"Ugh, I don't like doing this with the baby," Zoe said, halting so quickly that Shane bumped into her back.

"Okay." He dug into his pants pocket with his free hand, pulled out a small flashlight and flipped it on. The narrow beam of light lit up the ancient stairway.

"Cool," Zoe commented. "Thank you, sir."

Shane decided right then that, strangely, he didn't like that she called him "sir." But he didn't say anything. Instead, he carefully turned, shut the door behind them, and held the light up high as they descended.

They reached the bottom in much less time than it had taken them to ascend, and Zoe pushed the back door open. Shane followed, shut the door behind them, and---

A burst of Italian shouting banged through the alley. Shane tensed, his eyes flaring. He braced himself and reached for Zoe. She wasn't there.

She was hurrying _toward_ the source of the yelling: a middle-aged Venetian policeman standing at the end of the alley.

"Hi!" she greeted him, adjusting the baby on her hip as she trotted. Alarmed, Shane got his legs in gear and caught up to her. The policeman blinked, and Zoe gave him a big smile.

"Hi, maybe _you_ can help us," she said amiably, but with an artful dash of exasperation in her voice. "See, my husband and I just got here, and got off a water bussomewhere back there," she waved vaguely. "And now we're completely lost." She had spoken in blatant American, with no attempt at Italian. Shane pressed in closer behind her, watching the policeman. But there was no need. The officer's confrontational expression had melted at the sight of Zoe's pretty smile and the baby she was carrying. The policeman smiled politely and warmly, also, at the sound of her dialect.

"Of course, ma'am," he inclined his head, speaking pretty good English. "Where are you going?"

"Um…is it the Duodo Palace, honey?" She tilted her head back and looked at Shane.

_Honey?_ Shane fought not to get derailed.

"Yeah, I think so," he managed.

"Okay, okay." The policeman thought a moment. "Is it close to anything?"

Zoe bit her lip.

"I remember reading it was close to San Marco and even closer to La Fenice."

"Ah!" the policeman's face lit up with understanding. "Okay, okay---then you will go this way, _si?" _He pointed behind them. "And follow all the signs that say _San Marco_. It is easy to get turned around, but if you are in _Piazza de San Marco_, you are very close." He smiled. "Is okay if you get lost---if you get lost in Venice, is only way to learn where you're going."

"San Marco?" Shane repeated.

"_Si, Senor."_

Zoe gave the policeman another stunning smile.

"Thank you so much for your help."

"_Bonjourno, Senora, Senor,_" he inclined his head to both of them, and Shane and Zoe walked around the apartment, into the sunny courtyard, and through the handful of policeman they had tried so hard to avoid earlier. But Zoe met all of their eyes, and they acknowledged her in a friendly manner. Then, they were clear, heading the direction the policeman had pointed. Shane marveled at her. Zoe was brilliant.

Once they had entered the shadow of another street, she turned and threw a glance back at him. The smile she gave him was a little more guarded, but it was borne out of triumph, and he could tell she couldn't hide it.

"Good job, Captain," she commended. "See what I mean?"

"Yes," he acknowledged, shifting the strap of the bag again and coming up to walk beside her. The street they were walking down began to get crowded with shoppers, and Shane could tell that a good many of them were not Venetians, but from other parts of Europe. He leaned down towards Zoe.

"So…it looks like a lot of folks will probably be able to speak English."

"Yes, they do," she answered, still looking ahead.

"So…" Shane lowered his voice more. "I would recommend that you not call me 'Captain.'"

Zoe's eyes flicked briefly to his. She shifted the baby again.

"Is that an order, sir?"

"Yes, Zoe."

She glared at him.

"Fine, _Shane_."

"_Zoe_," he said again, though lightly.

"_Shane_," she growled warningly, stepping around two teenagers.

"Zoe," he said, like a breath of fresh air---but not loud enough for her to hear.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

_Reviews are my life, my breath…so thanks for them. ;) Hope you enjoy!_

VVVVVVVVVVV

Zoe was unsettled. Shane couldn't tell why, but her face had lost its joviality and her expression was concentrated, tight---something was bothering her. But he didn't ask her about it. The streets of Venice were getting too packed with natives and tourists, and everything became more crowded and noisy the closer they got to San Marco. Still, Shane kept close beside her, not allowing anyone to walk between them.

"Can I take the baby from you?" Shane asked. "Is he getting heavy?"

"No, thanks," she said shortly. Shane watched her for a moment, then kept walking, saying nothing. The smell of cigarette smoke and musty water filled the air. After going down the wrong street twice, backtracking, and spilling out into a sun-filled piazza by a giant, white, pillared opera house, they wandered down a lane catawampus from the opera, and, by chance, caught sight of a sign that read _Duodo Palace_.

"We could have walked right by it," Shane commented, assessing the front of the tall, beige building. "Are they trying to hide it?"

"Maybe everyone who's anybody already knows where it is," Zoe muttered. Wincing, she shifted the disgruntled baby to her other hip and headed toward the door. Shane frowned at her. Why wouldn't she let him carry the baby?

She didn't wait for him to open the door for her either, and he caught it as it was shutting behind her. It almost hit him in the head. His annoyance at her rose back full force. They stepped into the small but luxurious entryway---the floor was black and white checked marble tile, a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the walls were dark, polished wood. The counter in front of them was also wood and marble; and straight through, on the other side of the room, Shane could see a door that opened up to another canal, so that the hotel could easily be reached by gondola and water taxi. _That _was probably the main entrance. He and Zoe had actually come in the back door. Again.

Zoe approached the front desk and the concierge, who smiled at her around his mustache.

"_Bonjourno, Senora_,"

"_Bonjourno,_" Zoe answered with a sigh, appearing ragged. "We would like two rooms, please."

The concierge chuckled.

"For you and the baby?"

"No, this is my husband," Zoe glanced back at Shane again. Shane wanted to growl at her but restrained himself. The concierge glanced back and forth between them, not following. Zoe was quick to make it clear.

"The baby's been colicky," she said good-naturedly, bouncing the suddenly-fussy-looking baby on her hip. "I'll have to get up a lot in the night to take care of him, and I don't want to wake Shane." She now gave Shane an apologetic smile. Shane looked back at her in indignant disbelief. This was all weirdly easy for her…

"Ah, I see," the concierge nodded brightly. "In that case, I will give you rooms 24 and 26." He reached back behind him to a set of wooden cubby-holes that held the room keys and withdrew two thick, plastic key cards, each one attached to a large, metal-topped tassel. Shane supposed these would make the keys very hard to lose.

Shane then stepped forward and took the keys.

"Thank you," he nodded.

"And if you will sign our registration forms, _Senor_," the concierge instructed.

"Sweetheart, I'm going to go to the room and lie down," Zoe said, sliding one of the keys out of Shane's hand. He turned so the concierge couldn't see him.

"Burying yourself in the part?" he muttered.

"Just take it in stride," she hissed under her breath, not looking at him, and headed down a hall

just to one side of the counter, the baby leaning over her shoulder and sticking his thumb in his mouth.

"I am sorry about the baby, _Senor_," the concierge said as he handed Shane a pen. Shane nodded.

"Yeah, me too," he admitted, taking the pen and looking down at the papers. When he saw the words _Names of All Guests_, he paused, thinking a moment, then quickly wrote: _Shane, Zoe and Seth Johnson._

VVVVVVVVVVVV

Shane ascended one set of stairs, moved down a hallway and entered his darkened room, which was freezing because of the air conditioning. The room held two narrow double beds, a desk and armchair in the corner, a wardrobe and a tall window with curtains. He flipped on the light. The colors of the décor were cream and gold---subtle, vertical stripes decorated the wallpaper---there were tassels on the curtains, and five pillows on each bed. Near the window, a white door opened into a nice, white-tiled bath with a huge mirror, and the bathroom also bore two small, screenless windows.

Shane quickly dumped the bags on the bed, found the air conditioning unit and turned it off. He then moved into the bathroom and opened the little windows, letting the summer air inside. Leaning down, he peered through one of them. He gazed out over the rooftops of Venice, and spied a tall, slightly-leaning brown tower not too far away. Just then, the bell in that tower began to ring, its ancient but lively, steady song resounding through the medieval city. Absently, Shane began to count the _dongs_, wondering what time it was---until he realized that it rang fifteen times. He smirked. It must just ring on the hour, without trying to communicate anything else.

Shane sighed, rubbing his face. Suddenly, he realized how exhausted he was; how gritty he felt, and how hungry. Noting that no windows of other buildings could be viewed from his, he didn't bother covering the windows of his bathroom, and quickly got in and took a shower. The shower head was short, so he had to bend down to shave his head, and wash his face and neck, but he didn't mind. The hot water streaming over him felt too good.

He got out, put on new clothes he had effectively stolen from the Vellicos, and, remembering to take his giant room key, left and went back out to the desk. The same concierge, who was doing paperwork, looked up and greeted him just as politely as before.

"Hi," Shane managed to give him a smile, too. "I'm still really jet-lagged---is there room service here?"

"_Si, Senor_," the concierge answered quickly. "Shall we send you something?"

"Yeah, whatever you can do---I could eat anything right now," Shane chuckled.

"All right, sir---we will bring you something shortly."

"Oh, and, uh…" Shane cleared his throat, glancing back toward the doorway. "My wife is probably really hungry too, so…"

The concierge nodded.

"Of course, _senor_, we will bring something to her as well."

"Great. Thanks."

Shane retreated to his room, where he suddenly noticed there was no television, and lay down on his bed, stretching his arms up to pillow his head in his hands. In a little while, a server came to bring him a tray of fruit, breads, cold pepperoni, cheeses and water, which Shane practically inhaled. Then, feeling sufficiently full and no longer cold or dirty, but warm and comfortable, he got under his covers and fell asleep.

VVVVVVVVVVVV

He had no idea what time it was when he woke up. He just knew it was dark. Grunting and rubbing his eyes groggily, he sat up and wondered what had bothered him. Then he heard it---a soft knocking on the door. He twisted under his covers, and, with some groping, pulled a watch out of one of the bags. Squinting, he read that it was 10:30 at night, Italy time. Swiping at his face again, he flipped on the bedside lamp, grimaced at the bright light, got up and moved to the door.

He opened it and found Zoe standing there, wearing some red, loose-fitting, short sleeved pajamas that looked a little too big for her. She was leaning heavily to one side, bearing the burden of the little Italian baby, whose face was puffy and scrunched up in a terrible, whimpering pout. Shane leaned his forearm on the doorframe and looked at Zoe.

"Good evening, sweetheart," he smiled lopsidedly. Her eyebrows went up.

"Excuse me?"

Shane shrugged.

"Just taking it all in stride," his smile broadened. Zoe winced again and readjusted the baby. The baby's unhappy face grew worse.

"What have you been doing?" Zoe asked, almost accusing. Shane put on an innocent face.

"Me? Oh, just having a party," he said frankly. Then he lowered his head. "C'mon, Zo. You made it perfectly clear you could and _wanted _to handle the kiddo, so I've been sleeping." He paused a moment. "Haven't _you_ been?"

"Does it look like it?" Zoe asked, blinking rapidly, her eyes shining more than usual, and just then the baby's face twisted, he squeezed his eyes shut, huge tears dripped down his face and he let out a piercing wail. Shane stared at Zoe. Her hair was disheveled, her face was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Besides this, she looked as if she was about to start crying herself.

"Have you gotten to take a shower?" he asked over the baby's fussing. She shifted again, clearly very sore, and finally burst out:

"No! No, I barely had enough time to put on pajamas! I tried feeding him, bathing him, changing his diaper, rocking him, walking with him back and forth, singing to him…" She spoke in a rush, but her voice escalated to the point of losing control, so she stopped and let out a shaky breath, her expression a mixture of fury and pain. She closed her eyes and wiped at her face, as if afraid of showing even one tear. Shane set his jaw, stepped forward and took the baby from her. She looked up at him, startled---and the kid stopped crying. Shane settled the baby against him again, rubbing his back and saying: "_Shhh_, _shhh_." The baby began to suck on his thumb, and laid his head sleepily against Shane's shoulder. Shane glanced at Zoe. She looked as if someone had slapped her.

"Hey, come on in," he said gently.

Zoe just stood for a moment, stunned, then listlessly wandered into the room, letting the door swing shut behind her.

"I don't get it," Zoe murmured as the baby continued to quiet and relax.

"Oh, it's not a big deal," Shane tried to brush it off. "I'm naturally warm-blooded and there's more of me to stretch out on, that's all." He reflexively rocked the baby up and down, back and forth, then eased himself back down onto the bed, stretching his legs out in front of him. Zoe just stood there, staring at nothing. He considered her.

"You don't have to do this all by yourself, you know" he told her. She didn't respond. His brow furrowed. "That's why this is a two part thing."

"What is?" she breathed, her gaze dimming.

"The husband and wife thing," he said.

That brought some life back into her face, and she met his eyes. Shane abruptly felt strange.

"You know," he adjusted the blanket. "In terms of this…arrangement, we're a team here, right?"

Her eyebrows went up, just slightly.

"So, that means that we take turns with the kid," Shane clarified. "You watch him while I shower and eat and I watch him while you shower and eat. Isn't that how your folks did it?"

"No." Her voice was very quiet, and the alertness in her face faded.

"Zo, go take a shower," he said firmly, deciding to ignore the impact that last word had had on him. Zoe straightened, looking halfway fierce again.

"No, I'm not dumping the baby on you---"

"You didn't dump him, I took him, so go take a shower," Shane repeated, waving her off with one hand. "I've got it, I'm an old pro. Plus, I got some sleep already. Go. That's an order."

Too tired to argue, he supposed, Zoe wandered out of the room and back toward hers. As the door clicked shut, Shane patted the baby on the back.

"Why wouldn't you sleep for Zoe, huh?" he chided. "C'mon, cut her some slack, huh?"

But the baby didn't hear him---he was fast asleep.

TBC


End file.
